PETS AS KIDS Letters to the editor, inspired by this article

I just wanted to thank you for Karen Feld’s wonderful article about her “fur kids” in Sky [“Companions: My Pets Are My Kids,” April]. It was so special and unexpected to meet a kindred spirit while reading a magazine at 30-some thousand feet. Jack, my cockapoo “fur kid,” is the light of my life.

He carries out all his household duties with a certain panache. He is Chairman of the Welcome Committee, Chief of Security (these two are conflicting duties, to be sure, but somehow he manages quite well), Head Smile Maker, No. 1 Confidant and, of course, all-around Best Buddy.

I think some people fail to understand that he really is my kid, just because he isn’t human. But who says that your kids have to be the same species? I personally prefer the canine variety.

Hopefully, thanks to your article, more people will gain a wider perspective on parenting-perhaps we can call it “cross-species parenting”?

christine h. okamoto

irvine, california

I enjoyed Karen Feld’s article in Sky. I felt like we are kindred spirits in respect to her “kids” since I also had had an angel called Monty, who died at 18 months from a heart disorder. Monty helped me through a trying time of facing cancer, and after I became a survivor, his job was done and he left me. I now picture him jumping in a field of flowers without collapsing and struggling for a breath. Her description of Amaretto’s situation brought tears to my eyes and memories of what I went through to try to save my little baby.

It is interesting to know that other people in this world also give “puppy showers.” The one for my miniature schnauzer, Preston, was quite the talk of my little town and tons of fun! Preston is the one to fill Monty’s “pawsteps,” and he is trying very hard.

j. johnson

niceville, florida

Karen Feld’s “My Pets Are My Kids” article in the April Delta Sky magazine was a truly offensive bit of dreck. French kissing her poodles in public?

Not only is this improper and disgusting, it’s unhealthy. Ask any doctor, or veterinarian, if you prefer.

The very premise that pets are kids is obnoxious, not to mention wrong. Maybe, as she says, they look like her but, hey, they aren’t going to grow into men or women or go to college or become president. They’re just dogs.

I like your magazine, but this article was just too gross. Please, fight the urge to shock us in an inflight magazine.

david lowery

austin, texas

I was so moved by Karen Feld’s article on her “fur kids.” I feel the same way about my fur kid. Milo is 7 1Ú2, and he is the most gorgeous white Lab. I have had him since he was 7 weeks old. I’m 40 and not having children: He is my child. My friends sometimes think I am nuts, but he is the love of my life (besides my wonderful husband, of course). I am trying to only enjoy every second with him and not think about his age.

anna sullivan fallico

arvada, colorado

My wife, Tina, was not enthusiastic about adopting our wheaten terrier, Murphy, but she reluctantly agreed to go along with it. After the initial two to three months of house training, followed by another six months of chewing on furniture, she slowly realized that she loves him more than she ever imagined. Murphy’s human siblings think he’s the favorite in the family. We miss him terribly when we travel, and he, likewise, misses us. And yes, we do call him. And share our bed with him.

Our friends and family have learned to tolerate his characteristic “Wheaten Greetin’,” which usually involves jumping, barking, kissing, etc.

gary volz

cincinnati

I enjoyed your recent article in Delta’s Sky magazine, “My Pets Are My Kids.” As an artist who paints pet portraits (www.robertmarinich.com), I really appreciate the love that is offered by our four-legged friends. Their love comes without any strings attached and brings warmth to so many.

Through my artwork, I donate to a number of charities to assist in raising money.

robert c. marinich

alpharetta, georgia

Thank goodness-someone who dares to put down in writing, for all the world to read, how we “Dog People” really feel. I have a 12-month-old yellow Lab (somewhat bigger than Karen Feld’s babies), called Chisum (my husband is a John Wayne fan), who is going through some teething problems with allergies, etc., in the South. (What do we expect when we take a cold climate breed and expect him to suffer the humidity of the South?!) I was getting ready to leave this morning and as soon as he saw the suitcase, he was whining and nibbling at my hands. Enough to break my heart. I keep all this bottled in most of the time-as my husband and stepdaughter already think I’m a little cuckoo! I really didn’t think that anyone could understand how much I love him, and that in some ways it was a little extreme-and certainly not desirable!

But here your writer is, telling the world how she feels and, I’m sure, echoing so many of our feelings. Thank you, thank you, thank you. When I return home tomorrow evening, I am going to give Chisum the biggest kiss in the world, then kiss my darling husband!

Again, thank you for your writer’s honesty and in some ways her bravery.

kerry gentry

fayetteville, georgia

I thought Karen Feld’s Delta piece was magnificent in the sense that I wanted to keep reading, digesting what she thought, listening to what she was saying. It’s slippery ground, I think, for some people to equate dogs to kids, but your writer makes it sound so natural, so attractive, so much fun. And there is the commitment on her part to see them through no matter what happens. And the special attachment that comes when the little one needs your attention.

ronald springwater

washington, d.c.

I am deeply touched and feel much the same as Karen Feld does with my family. I have always had four generations of poodles until the last one died at age 17, five years ago. She was 5 pounds and the mother of my smallest ever, 2 1Ú2 pounds: Cinnebar demitasse, “Cinny,” who lived to be 11 years old and was the most beautiful little girl. She had the disorder that very small dogs have-hypoglycemia-but outgrew it. I had a luncheon date once with the first astronaut to go up with the Russian cosmonaut in space, Tom Stafford, and broke the date to stay with my dear to get her through her attack. The general that called me for Stafford couldn’t believe that I broke a date with him to stay with a dog.

My new family started off after burying Topaz (“Topey”), her mother, in my garden amongst my roses in the sun with her little tombstone and prayers when I got Copper, my now almost 5-year-old small red miniature. She goes everywhere with me and takes trips to Hilton Head with me and goes on the ferry to Daufuskie Island, going around in a golf cart for 18 with my son and myself.

I left her with a friend on my last trip to Arizona and somehow she dug under his fence and was gone. The devastation was as if someone had put a bullet in the pit of my stomach.

After flyers, calls to the shelter and to my vet, rewards offered, and walking the streets in Dale City for days-my son took off from his store and came for a day-no Copper.

I now have not only gotten Copper back through an ad in the local paper but have a lovely new present for her-Snowy, a now 3-month-old Maltese. My Icicle Snow Maiden has been with us for a month.

The feline group are Memeko Snow Lilly, China Grey and Midi Noir. Lilly is a chocolate point Siamese and came into the household with Copper as a kitten when Copper was a puppy-they are three weeks apart in age. The other two are products of Lilly’s midnight adventures in the garden until she was fixed. The cats have torn up my clothes, destroyed my sofa, but I love them and, yes, they all sleep on my bed and get along well together. They love to go in Mom’s large garden and see the beautifuls. These are my dearest little family, and they give so much love and comfort that my cup runneth over.

cyd everett

via e-mail